


Her Commander

by Dragondizzy



Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Angst, Death, Depression, Drug Use, F/M, Suicide
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-17
Updated: 2015-04-17
Packaged: 2018-03-23 11:34:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,472
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3766618
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dragondizzy/pseuds/Dragondizzy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After the Inquisitor's death, grief swallows Cullen whole, and he follows his Inquisitor the only way he can.</p><p>WARNING: Suicide, drug use and angst depicted.</p><p>Inspired & paired with the song 'Run to You' by Pentatonix.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Her Commander

Cullen sighed, eyes drifting over the smooth, porcelain skin of her face. Over rosy lips that enticed a kiss, over delicate eyelashes that hid come-hither eyes. She was asleep, his heart whispered. Lost in peaceful slumber, about to wake up and grin sleepily, to reach a hand forward and beckon. A sob shook his chest as he brushed a knuckle over her cheek. _But she won't._

He lifted her hand to grasp it in his own, kneeling beside the casket. She was cold to the touch, but the long-familiar scars and callouses were there as he squeezed. Hot tears rolled down his face as he pressed his lips to her fingers, eyes squinting shut in a final prayer. An internal scream that begged for her fingers to tighten around his; to hear the soft sigh of a lazy breath.

“Commander...they're ready.”

Nodding over his shoulder, Cullen stood weakly. Resting her hand carefully back on the other, he straightened her dress. Everything had to be perfect. Gaze returning to her face, he curled his finger through a golden lock, as he bent down to brush his lips across hers for one last time.

“Goodbye, love.”

He straightened, committing her face to memory, every contour, every crease. The dusting of freckles across her nose and chest. The small silver scar at her temple. The sound of boots clipping across the floor jerked him from his trance. Fingers grasped gently around his elbow, and tugged him back, his body reluctantly complying. Men stepped forward, dressed boldly in Inquisition livery, sliding the lid of the casket closed. Cullen's stomach churned, fear coiling into the lump in his throat. _What if he forgets? What if he forgets what she looks like?_ She needed to stay, stay here where he could watch over her. _The...the status Dorian had placed her under, she could stay like that, yes._ He made to start forward, reaching an arm to stop the nearest soldier. The grip on his elbow tightened, causing him to glance to his companion. The square jaw was set, clenched tight as tears welled. The scar on her cheek flexed with the effort of retaining control.

“Cullen, you need to let her go.” It was barely more than a whisper, lips set in a grim line as she held him. He stared, dumbly, the words plunging deep into the well in his chest. _Let her go. I...I can't._ A tear rolled down his cheek, following well worn tracks to his rough beard. He scratched at it, the length strange. Cassandra's grip never lessened. “I brought you this.” Holding out her arm, he recognised the black and red fur, the gold trim. Taking it silently, he shrugged out of her hold and swung it around his shoulders.

The soldiers had lifted the casket, now surrounded by an escort holding flags and standards, heraldry emblazoned across the fabric. Cassandra was looking at him questioningly. _I...yes._ Nodding, he wrapped the cloak around himself tightly. Shuffling to the rear of the group, he watched as the large doors to the chantry were swung open, ushering in a gust of wind. Cullen closed his eyes as the breeze caressed his cheek, as it ruffled through his fur collar. _It smells of her_. _Crystal Grace_. A sob hitched in his chest, and he opened his eyes to watch her be taken away, carried out into the gardens. Willing his feet forward, he stumbled behind, eyes locked on the wooden coffin. _I have to remember_.

The funeral was swift and sombre. It was reserved for the inner circle, and the main residents of Skyhold that had known the Inquisitor. Many nobles and visitors had travelled to attend, but they were made to wait, wait until... _She's gone_. Cullen was drained of tears as he watched the box lower into the sarcophagus. He was cold, resigned, _empty_. Soft crying and sobs surrounded him, echoes of his own weeping soul. There would be no awakening, no miracle. He buried his face into the fur, inhaling her scent as the lid was lifted into place. Her likeness had been carved into the stone, a statue adorned in armour. A grey palm lay upturned, inset with a glowing green gemstone. _She was more._ That's how she will be remembered, as the Inquisitor, saviour of the world. The Herald who died heroically protecting them all. _She was so much more. My love_. _My...wife._

Slowly the crowd dispersed, time freezing as he stood by her tomb. His hand slipped into a pocket, fingers circling the gold band. He chuckled as he stared down onto her face, stern and commanding in its stone form. When she had said yes, to agree to be his wife, the world was all colour and light. They were infallible. After everything, they could finally be together. Then...

Crumpling over the stone coffin, he clutched at her cold form, body shaking as grief swamped him. _Why did you leave me?_ He was alone, dropped into a void with no colour, no light. _No hope_. He found himself wishing it was demons again, torturing his thoughts and memories, that in a moment he would wake, or be rescued from this hell. Falling to his knees he wept, whispering her name. _Why?_ She was strong, capable. It should be him, not her. _I can't._

Day turned to night as he leant against her, eyes bleary and red, the cold of the stone seeping into his bones. Cassandra found him, slumped forward and staring, gaze empty and lifeless. Coaxing him to a stand, she half carried him to his tower. There she set him before the fire, concern etched into her face. He had not stirred, lost to his inner turmoil.

“I will get you some food Cullen. Please...please try to get warm.” With that she left him. The heat of the fire wakened him slightly from his stupor, his weary gaze looking about the room. A room filled with memories, each a fresh stab to the void in his chest. He saw her everywhere - leant against the door, sat on the desk, climbing up the ladder. _Stop._ Wobbling to a stand, he let his cloak drop the ground as he made his way over to the desk. Fumbling at the draw with cold fingers, he finally got it open, and pulled out a key. Taking a deep breath, he drew himself up and fixed his eye on a small cabinet behind the door. _Yes_. He had been through too much, too often. Nothing held hope for him any more. Every time he tried, it was ripped away. _No more. Not without her_.

Stumbling over to the cabinet, he steadied a shaking hand to fit the key in the lock. The door swung open to the slight tinkle of vials. Closing his eyes, he filled his vision with her sun-kissed hair, a dimpled smile, laughing eyes, as he reached forwards. Holding her image, he pulled the stopper and brought the glass to his lips. _I won't be left behind._

 

* * *

He pushed back brambles as he stepped over the broken stone, pausing to admire the imposing ruin. The ghosts of the keep bumbled about before him, carrying about their day as he recalled their faces. Much had overgrown and crumbled over the decades, but he could recall the general layout. Venturing on, he strode through a broken archway, admiring the worn statues adorning the walls around him. _It was somewhere ahead._ He continued through open doorways, wood long rotten and decayed. Following what he garnered were once corridors, he found his way into a wooded grove, surrounded by broken pillars. The plant life had gone wild, covering the grounds in Elfroot, Embrium and Crystal Grace. Birds flitted about, alerted to his presence.

 

Smiling, he carefully made his way to the centre. Two stone sarcophagi lay side by side, overgrown but still intact. Pulling away the weeds, he revealed a woman's face, strong and determined, much like he remembered. Further clearing uncovered a scratched palm – whatever adornment had laid there had been pried loose years ago. Moving to the second tomb, he cut back a particularly stubborn vine. A broad chest, armoured decadently, framed a proud and handsome face. Someone had crudely carved a scar into the lip, but it just made him smile. Gradually he cleared their resting place, removing the offending weeds that smothered them. Picking a few flowers, he laid them next to the plaque. Settling himself in the downy grass, he flicked some wards out for protection, just in case. Gazing up at the darkening sky, he smiled, as he would soon see his friends once again. Feeling his eyes droop, Solas latched onto the feeling of love that emanated around him, anchoring himself to happy memories.

 

_HERE LIES_

_THE INQUISITOR_

_&_

_HER COMMANDER_


End file.
